


Snowfall

by zenstrike



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Found Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, it’s really just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Byleth continues. They pause. “What are you doing?”“Nothing,” Felix says at the same time that Dimitri raises a hand to point at the sky and say: “Snow.”Byleth blinks.Dedue coughs. Dimitri’s hand drops.***A little taste of home.
Relationships: Blue Lions Students & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Comments: 22
Kudos: 212





	Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve come to a new place and i’ve been waiting for it to snow
> 
> there are some shippy vibes underneath a lot of this, i think. maybe. sort of?

Byleth finds them gathered on a half-secret patch of green, soft courtyard, with its low shrubberies and jagged stone paths that remind them all how very old and how very mysterious the monastery is. It’s a clear day: a little noisy, a little cool. The wind, when it picks up, is crisp, and the mountains seem bright and sharp around and below and above them. Byleth pauses in their regular wandering of the battlements (of the high points of the monastery, with its towers and vast ceilings and hidden pathways and secret opportunities).

“Hm,” Sothis hums in their ear.

Hm, Byleth agrees and presses their fingers to stone, leaning over the edge of the battlement to peer down at their students.

“Can we go to lunch now?” Sylvain grumbles from his spot on the grass. He tugs some grass free and tosses it in the general direction of the centre of the little patch. The blades flutter pathetically and land on his legs.

“No one’s asking you to stay,” Felix snaps over his shoulder.

Sylvain groans but doesn’t move.

“What _ are _ they doing?” Sothis says, her voice lilting and sing-song and cheery. Byleth is starting to understand that she loves to watch and wonder at the Lions, too.

Most of them are standing at the edge of the courtyard’s little patch of grass, with the blue of the sky serving as a lovely backdrop to this moment of quiet. Ashe is dropped next to Sylvain, elbows on his knees and gaze on the heavens and book forgotten just in front of him. Behind them and almost out of sight of Byleth, Annette and Mercedes are leaned together, laughing and talking quietly and dragging Ingrid from her delicate pacing when she passes them. Dedue, steady and still, has his back to Byleth and his arms crossed. There’s a curious tilt to his head, however; Byleth thinks he might be smiling.

And at the centre of the patch, Dimitri and Felix stand and stare straight up at the sky, mostly silent and mostly unmoving.

“Lunch,” Sylvain says again. Ashe hushes him. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m going to scare the snow away.”

Felix digs his fists into his hips and says several rude things.

Dimitri leans away from him.

“We’re in the mountains,” Felix says. Shouts, a little. “It is _ winter _!”

“It’s warm,” Ashe points out.

“I mean,” Annette adds. “It’s a little breezy!”

Felix huffs, loud enough for Byleth to hear from their perch.

They lean a little further over the edge, elbows digging into stone and hair catching in said breeze. Sothis lounges next to them, untouched by the wind or the cold.

“They’re earnest,” Sothis mumbles. And then, with affection: “Our cubs.”

This makes Byleth’s small, growing smile twist into a grimace. “I feel like a cub myself.”

“Yes,” Sothis sighs. Byleth isn’t sure what to make of that.

“The sky is clear,” Sylvain says, waving his fingers at Felix and Dimitri’s backs. “The grass is green! Winter’s not here yet”

It’s early in the Red Wolf Moon and Garreg Mach is nothing but comfortable and luscious. Byleth, who has never experienced a Faerghus winter, keeps waking and expecting an extra chill on the wind, a little frost on the grass. At night, they bundle themselves in blankets only to find, quickly, that they are too hot and sweaty and distinctly uncomfy.

“None of your impatience is tinged with homesickness,” Sothis sniffs and pushes away from the stone. Her toes wiggle as she floats away, drawing Byleth’s attention, finally, from their students below. 

Sylvain and Felix are bickering.

“You could just, I don’t know, appreciate the good weather.”

“I’m plenty appreciative.”

“Look at the grass! Look at the sky!”

“Did I ask for your opinion? No? Go eat your lunch!”

Sothis and Byleth share a look, then Byleth ducks away and starts, slow and careful, down the nearby steps to get back to ground level. The voices drift away, and then back to their ears as they turn towards the secluded corner the Blue Lions have stolen away to.

“Play nice,” Annette scolds as Byleth comes closer.

Felix makes a noise—part disgusted, part embarrassed—that makes Sylvain laugh, short and sharp and loud.

Byleth comes up to an adjoining pillar, dragging their fingers against the stone just to feel the leather catch, just in time to see Dimitri finally turn from his watch and twist at the waist to peer back.

His smile is half-crooked and startling in its clarity. Byleth imagines they know what his voice will sound like when he finally speaks, teasing or scolding or embarrassed, and they imagine they know what the answering call from Sylvain will sound like, or what Felix’s unhappy grunted insult will sound like, or Annette’s snickers or Mercedes’s wind-chime laugh—

But Dimitri spots them and there’s a jerk of embarrassment over his features and the smile falls away to something smaller, more self-conscious. Byleth wishes, just for a moment, that they had stayed up on the battlement (above it all) and watched for just a little longer.

Their lions are sweet, like this. Honest and earnest, like always, but without the filter that seems to be between them and Byleth most days.

“Oh, please,” Sothis mumbles. “Is that what you think?”

“Professor,” Dimitri says, turning on his heel and lowering his crossed arms to his side. 

Byleth comes closer, hands clasped behind their back. “Hello,” they say.

Ashe stumbles to his feet with a wave. Sylvain, still on the ground, leans back on his palms and blinks back at Byleth.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Byleth continues. They pause. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Felix says at the same time that Dimitri raises a hand to point at the sky and say: “Snow.”

Byleth blinks.

Dedue coughs. Dimitri’s hand drops.

“You’re waiting for snow?” Byleth clarifies.

“By now,” Annette pipes up. “Most of us are knee-deep in it.” She scratches her chin idly, a little sheepishly, like she’s embarrassed to have spoken. In a mumble, she adds: “You know. Normally. At home.”

“Some of us _ like _ not freezing to death,” Sylvain sniffs.

“Oh,” Byleth says. And then: “You’re homesick.”

“Hungry,” Felix snaps. “We’re hungry.”

“Excellent,” Sylvain says and gets to his feet with a flourish that has Felix baring his teeth. “Let’s go!”

“_ I’m _ hungry,” Felix clarifies, too late. Sylvain has already burst across the courtyard and linked their arms, his cheery smile in place as he starts to drag Felix towards Byleth. Ingrid joins a moment later at Felix’s other side and flashes Byleth a small smile.

“We’re off, Professor,” she says.

“See you at lunch, Professor!” Sylvain adds.

And Felix, between them, scowls.

They pull him away with the practiced ease of lifelong friends, Annette following and failing to hide her snickers.

“I think it’s grilled fish today,” Mercedes says thoughtfully as she passes.

“What kind of fish?” Byleth asks.

“The—pond kind.”

Byleth smiles. 

Ashe darts after Mercedes, flashing Byleth a small smile. He falls into easy step next to Mercedes and they, in turn, fall into easy conversation, smiles bright and steps light.

“Will you join us, Professor?” Dedue asks.

They blink at each other. Byleth tilts their head, considering.

“You all seem...cheerful,” they say.

“Yes.”

“Come eat with us,” Dimitri says, finally stepping from the grass. He’s still smiling that small, sheepish smile, like he’s been caught doing something silly or foolish.

And looking at Dedue and Dimitri, and looking at Dedue and Dimitri looking back, Byleth thinks that they’ve caught their class in a sweet moment. It’s—something. They can’t quite name it. But, yes, it is _ something _ to see them all like this, and to see them capable of something as innocent as homesickness or impatiently waiting to drag a friend to lunch or simply waiting for snow from a clear sky. It makes the air taste a little cleaner, a little clearer, and it chases away the dread of Remire Village and the unknown illness that seems to be following Byleth from visit to visit.

“Professor?” Dimitri prompts, shaking Byleth from their thoughts.

“You’ve been unwell,” Dedue says, his lips twitching.

Byleth blinks up at him, wonders how he knows that, and then shakes their head. “I’m fine.”

“You fainted.”

“I fell over,” Byleth corrects drily. They squint. “You’ve been talking to my father?”

Dimitri coughs. “Your father may have been talking to us.”

“_ All _ of you?”

“Maybe,” Dedue allows. “We haven’t discussed it.”

Byleth grimaces and draws their cloak tighter around themselves. “Lovely,” they mutter. They sigh, and continue: “No, I think I’ll leave you all be.”

Let them enjoy their cheer, Byleth decides in that moment. And they realize, suddenly and loudly, that they love the friendly shell the Blue Lions have built around themselves, that make them the loudest group in the dining hall and the busiest crowd at the training grounds, and which draws them to quiet corners of the monastery to stare up at the sky and wait for snow.

Dimitri and Dedue study them for a moment, something synchronous and mildly terrifying in their gazes.

“Come eat with us,” Dimitri says again, and his blink seems to be a trigger for the rest of his expression, which shifts to something warmer and wider and familiar. His smile is charming, when he lets it grow. And his eyes are so blue and clear.

Has anyone told him how blue they are?

“Ugh,” Sothis groans, loud and annoyed and almost startling Byleth. “_ You _ tell him.”

Byleth resists the urge to roll their eyes.

“Alright,” they say. “I do love grilled pond fish.”

Dedue smiles.

* * *

“Were you really waiting for snow?”

“Well,” Dedue says. “His Highness and Felix were.”

“Felix was,” Dimitri says, the closest to a grumble as Byleth has heard from him.

“I saw you,” Byleth says, raising one hand to point straight up. “You were both watching the sky, Dimitri.”

“I think you’re mocking me, Professor.”

“I think I am.”

* * *

Lunch is loud. Annette and Mercedes squish Byleth between them.

Maybe the Lions have gotten used to their awkward Professor.

(“They have,” Sothis mumbles, exasperated and tired all at once. “Really, you are the dimmest—”)

The class talks together, talks over each other, argues and tells stories and trades encouragement. Dimitri has this way of raising and then lowering his voice, drifting in and out and over conversation. Byleth wonders, maybe, if this is a trait of good leaders: something at once slippery and thoughtful and generous.

Across the table from them, Felix is similarly squished between Sylvain and Ingrid, shovelling lunch into his mouth and pushing a sweet pastry only somewhat sneakily towards Annette. Mercedes and Byleth help it go the rest of the way, and Annette’s delight sets Felix’s cheeks aflame and has Ingrid grinning wide.

And every time Byleth looks towards Dedue, he is leaned a little more towards Ashe, and Ashe is speaking a little more animatedly, and Dimitri in turn is leaning a little less into the conversation, smiling all the way.

Every once in a while, they call on Byleth. It’s simple, inviting: “Don’t you think, Professor?”; or, “Don’t talk like that in front of the Professor!”; or, “Professor, could we try—”

Sometimes Byleth doesn’t have to say anything at all. They seem happy either way.

And if the students are happy, Byleth figures they can be happy, too.

The sky remains clear.

* * *

(It starts like this:

Felix kicks in Dimitri’s door, early in the morning.

“Good morning Felix,” Dimitri says.

“Snow,” Felix says.

“Snow,” Dimitri repeats.

And because there is a chasm between them, between who they were before and who they might in the future, and because they are mired in the sludge in the middle, in the endless abyss of what their relationship is now—

And because Felix doesn’t know the difference between Dimitri, his oldest friend, and Dimitri, the monster who came back after the Tragedy, and Dimitri, the Prince who leads their class now—

And because Dimitri is patient enough to wait, and full of enough self-loathing not to beg for patience from Felix—

They watch each other.

Felix vibrates.

“Felix?”

“Snow,” he snaps. “It should be—snowing.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says.

“Goodbye,” Felix says. Shouts.

He whirls on his heel and walks straight into Sylvain.

“Guys,” Sylvain moan, rubbing the heels of his hands against his sleepy eyes. “Seriously.”

“Apologies,” Dimitri says.

“Move,” Felix says.

Yes, snow.)

* * *

They find their father scowling at his desk, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed and papers scattered around him. Byleth casts a cursory glance over it all, grows bored, and waves to catch Jeralt’s attention.

He takes one look at Byleth and asks: “What’s up?”

Byleth blinks. “Nothing.”

Jeralt snorts. He straightens in his seat, stretches, and then stands. “Something’s bugging you.”

“A mysterious illness,” Byleth says with a shrug. They step further into the office. “Lesson plans. The Church as a whole.”

“That’s a pretty good list.”

“Plenty of stuff to be bugged about.”

“I—don’t think you should say it like that.”

Byleth shrugs again. They pick at the edge of a ratty sheet of parchment. Is something bothering them?

They tilt their head.

They lift their chin and turn their frown on their father and say: “Have I ever been homesick?”

“Homesick?” Jeralt echoes, almost in a bark.

“Homesick.” Byleth nods once, emphatically, and this makes their father grin. “Really. Have I ever?”

“We’ve never really had a home to be sick for,” Jeralt points out, shrugging. He spreads his hands. “We’ve always been on the move. Until now, really.”

“Oh,” Byleth says.

“Why?” Jeralt’s mouth twists. 

“My students are homesick,” Byleth says. They pause. “I think.”

“You think?”

They gesture vaguely towards the ceiling. “I found them waiting for snow.”

Jeralt’s mouth twists a little more. He turns away and drums his fingers against his desk and turns back. “Yeah,” he huffs finally. “Weather’s weird here.”

“Will it snow?” Byleth asks.

Their father shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe. Tell your students that.”

“I don’t think I will,” Byleth says. They look their father over once. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

“What a coincidence,” Jeralt says. “I miss you, too, kid.”

When Byleth smiles, Jeralt’s entire expression twitches. He makes a sound somewhere between a choke and a guffaw and reaches for Byleth, drawing them in for a hug that’s more collision than affection. His hand is warm at the back of their head, and his tunic smells familiar and familiarly Jeralt-like, and Byleth leans into the embrace while their smile grows and grows.

“I’m starting to think,” Jeralt starts. He sighs. “Nevermind.”

“Okay,” Byleth mumbles. “How long are we supposed to hug for?”

“As long as we want.”

“Huh.” Byleth brings their arms up to return the hug, feeling small and grown all at once. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Jeralt agrees.

They stay like that for a long time, and Jeralt starts to bend a little more over Byleth and Byleth starts to settle a little more comfortably against his chest.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Jeralt warns.

Byleth grunts.

* * *

“I must have a home,” Sothis says when Byleth begins their slow walk back to their room. “And a family.” She sniffs.

“You have me,” Byleth tells her in a mumble. “Until you remember the rest, you can just have me.”

“I suppose you will do,” Sothis says.

“I’m glad.”

They walk in silence. The sun’s grown bright, filling the sky and burning away most of the chill of the morning and early afternoon. The grass is soft under Byleth’s steps.

“Your father loves you,” Sothis says eventually. “You are—most dear to him.”

“I love him too,” Byleth replies. The words are familiar in their mouth, practiced and easy, but this time there comes a sharp _ crack _ of something warm, a burst in the center of their chest and burning all the way up their throat.

They stop.

“I love him too,” they say again, a little louder. And there it is again.

“Byleth,” Sothis whispers.

They can’t tell if she is happy or sad.

“I feel dizzy,” Byleth mumbles.

“Yes.”

* * *

(“So,” Dimitri says at breakfast, sliding into the spot next to Felix.

“Go away.”

“Snow,” Dimitri continues, looking over his meal once. “I agree.”

“Agree with _ what _?”

“It should be snowing.”

Felix looks peers around Dimitri at the empty spot next to him, then across the table at the empty seats there, and then at the smattering of people making up the early breakfast line.

“Where’s your dog?” he grumbles.

“Don’t start,” Dimitri says. “Being cruel won’t bring the snow.”

“And what will?”

Dimitri takes a thoughtful moment. “Prayer?” he suggests.

Felix stares at him, and the rage builds slowly. “And who’s listening to prayers from a boar?” he hisses, and he abandons his breakfast and Dimitri.)

* * *

The dizzy spell passes.

Byleth endures Sothis’s grumpy fretting, hovering as she does while Byleth leans over their lesson plans for the week and sees and reads and hears nothing. They drag their fingers through the names of their students, and they tap gently at the notes they made from the week before, and they lean back in their chair and look up at the books they’ve collected from the library and the market and finds the lettering on the spines incomprehensible.

They feel, a little, like a pot on the stove, slowly coming to a boil.

“Those are your emotions,” Sothis tells them impatiently.

“I know that,” Byleth grumbles.

“No, you don’t,” Sothis scoffs. “If you did, we wouldn’t be spending—some period of time—sitting in your room and contemplating the sparkly bits of happy in your chest.”

“Sparkly bits of happy,” Byleth deadpans.

“You compared yourself to a boiling pot.”

“I compared myself to a pot _ coming to _ a boil.” Byleth leans forward and over their desk again. They press their lips together and then part them again with a small _ pop _. “It isn’t that I’m unfeeling.”

“I know.”

“It’s just—”

“You’re changing,” Sothis interrupts. Byleth lifts their head and watches her wave her hands, her ribbons and hair drifting with the windy shape of her movements. “You’re _ growing _, Byleth.”

“I’m getting stronger.”

Sothis squints at them. “Yes,” she says eventually. “_ Yes _, you are growing stronger. But that isn’t all.”

Byleth drags their elbows from the desk surface and tucks their arms close to their torso. “Have they always been this loud?”

Sothis pauses, her eyes growing distant. Byleth can feel her rifling through their soul, opening up their memories. “Yes,” Sothis replies. “But not always this clear, I think.”

Clear is a funny way to put it when Byleth feels so dizzy.

“I need a nap,” they decide.

“Of course you do,” Sothis sighs.

Someone knocks.

Da-donk, da-donk, da-da.

Byleth turns to the door. “Hello?” they call.

“Go answer it,” Sothis urges.

“Professor?” comes Annette’s voice through the door. “Are you busy?”

Byleth doesn’t wobble as they get to their feet, and the warmth in their chest doesn’t bring with it another dizzy spell. Maybe a faint hint of hunger—

“You’re always hungry,” Sothis says, a little gleefully.

Byleth ignores her and opens the door.

“Hello Annette,” they say.

Annette beams. She rocks back on her feet to look up at Byleth. “Hello Professor,” she says and then asks again: “Are you busy?”

Byleth shakes their head. “Would you like to come in?”

“Sure!” Annette replies and doesn’t move, except to raise a hefty book she’s clutching. “I have an idea and I was wondering if you would help me with it!”

Byleth blinks. “I will,” they say. They reach out and tap the blank back cover of the book. “What is that?”

“A book,” Annette says.

“Yes, I—”

“There’s a section in here that’s got some neat—stuff—about spell modifications,” Annette continues in a rush, finally hurrying passed Byleth. She flips the book open on Byleth’s desk.

“Modifications?” Byleth repeats. “What kind of modifications?”

“They’re talking about ways of strengthening simple spells, for less skilled or experienced mages,” Annette says, flipping through the pages. “Upping the raw might of Fire, for example, or making casting Fire less taxing. That sort of thing.”

“I see.” Byleth peers over her shoulder. “And you want to try that?”

“Kind of. I think we could apply the same principle and make a more advanced spell—less advanced. You know?”

“More accessible, you mean.”

“No,” Annette corrects slowly, hands finally stilling. She leans back on her heels and drums her fingers against her chin in a gesture Byleth is starting to find sweetly familiar: Annette, putting her ideas into words; Annette, putting her learning into action; Annette, making her intelligence and skill accessible.

Byleth smiles.

“More like...change what the spell could actually do. Rather than making Fire more fire-y, right, making something more powerful less, you know—”

“Powerful-y?”

“Exactly.”

Byleth shakes their head, smile growing, and Annette shrugs her way through a blush.

“Tell me what you have in mind _ exactly _,” Byleth presses. “Then I’ll understand.”

“It’s Felix and His Highness,” Annette starts.

“Dimitri won’t mind if you use his name,” Byleth says, gentle as they can. “I think it’ll make him happy, even.”

Another shrug, Annette shrinking back towards her book and pursing her lips against another blush. “Yes,” she says, halfway to gruff. “I know. And I do! Sometimes. It’s just—awkward, you know? Like if I called you—” She broke off, making something of a choking sound. “I can’t do it! I really can’t do it!”

“You can call me Byleth,” Byleth says.

“Absolutely not, Professor!”

“One day I won’t be your Professor, Annette.”

Annette looks at them. “And one day Dimitri’s going to be my king,” she says, thoughtful and serious.

“Yes,” Byleth allows.

They look back at the open book with its jam-packed writing and sharp-edged illustrations. Sothis is quiet, barely present in the corner of Byleth’s eye.

“I want to make snow,” Annette says, grinning when Byleth looks back at her.

* * *

(The next morning, even earlier, Felix kicks in Dimitri’s door again, and this time wakes the sleeping prince.

Dimitri swears when he rolls out of bed and lands on his face.

“You were having a nightmare,” Felix tells him.

“Yes,” Dimitri groans from the floor. “Go away.” He pauses. “Please.”

Felix crouches next to him and watches Dimitri roll onto his back and scowl at the ceiling. Felix doesn’t think: he looks exhausted.

“Boar,” he snaps.

Dimitri drags his gaze from the ceiling and looks at Felix and says: “I know you hate me.”

“Good,” Felix says.

And Dimitri has the gall to look sad.

When Felix leaves, Sylvain is leaned against the wall, blinking bleary eyes at him. _ Thank you _, he mouths.

Felix flips him the bird. Sylvain smiles.)

* * *

Annette and Byleth arrive for dinner a little late: the dining hall is packed and noisy; a group of knights Byleth doesn’t recognize have packed together at the end of one table and are telling jokes and drawing attention.

At the far end of the hall, crunched together in the middle of a table, they spot the rest of the Blue Lions when Ashe clambers on top of a bench and waves his arms, his smile bright. Annette makes a pleased sound and makes to dart towards them. Byleth catches the back of her shirt and tugs her back towards the front of the hall.

“Food first,” they say.

“Oh, yeah! Totally.”

“Totally,” Byleth echoes.

Annette rolls her eyes. Her hands shake a little while they wait in the short meal line, her fingers dancing as she talks and her eyes bright: equally excited and exhausted by her hard work.

“You should eat,” Byleth says, and then frowns, finding their next words. “More. You should eat more, I mean.”

Annette pauses. She considers her trembling fingers. “Double dessert it is,” she decides.

Byleth laughs and Annette is so pleased she seems to grow three sizes, inflated by the warmth of her smile and light in her eyes.

“Where were you?” Felix grunts when Annette drops down next to him.

She licks her lips and tucks into her dinner, snapping out: “Working!”

Felix rolls his eyes and drops his dessert onto Annette’s overfull tray.

“Slow down,” Mercedes chides.

Annette does not.

Byleth settles in across from her, Mercedes shuffling to make room on the bench. The class erupts back into noise, rivalling the clamour of the knights. Byleth chews thoughtfully and watches and listens and smiles.

They miss what makes Dimitri laugh so hard he chokes, several seats down from Byleth. They don’t miss the considerate way Dedue smacks him on the back, or the pleased grin Sylvain flashes him, or the way Ingrid leans her shoulder to Sylvain’s in an affectionate knock.

They watch Ashe try and direct Annette to a smear of cream sauce on her cheek, and Annette fail again and again to find it until Felix finally sighs and scrubs at her face with a napkin.

And as Annette starts on her third dessert plate, humming to herself, Mercedes leans close to Byleth and says: “I’m very glad to be together, Professor.”

Byleth smiles and nods.

Sparkly bits of happy, they think.

“Sparkly bits of happy,” Sothis agrees, something sweet cutting into the tease of her voice.

* * *

(Dimitri finds Felix the next morning, not at the crack of dawn, but on a walk. There’s a spot he likes, at the edge of the monastery, that feels like it’s at the edge of the world, too, with the sky huge above the monastery. He doesn’t know that each of the Blue Lions, in their own way, has claimed this spot as their own, and he doesn’t know that Felix hears him coming well before he decides to come closer.

“Felix,” he says.

Felix grunts.

He has his hands on his hips and his neck is craned so he’s looking straight up at the clear blue sky.

“What are you doing?” Dimitri stops next to him. He lets his lips quirk because Felix can’t see it. He even lets a little laughter bubble in and warm his chest.

“Waiting,” Felix says after a moment.

“Waiting,” Dimitri repeats.

“That’s what I said.” Felix takes in a long breath. He lets it back out. “Leave.”

Dimitri crosses his arms. “Most people pray in the Cathedral.”

“Fuck off.”

And Dimitri’s smile grows wide. He squares his shoulders and leans back and he stares up at the clear blue sky until it’s all he can see, and all he can hear is Felix breathing and the wind on their clothes.)

* * *

Sparkly bits of happy.

Byleth doesn’t entirely know what to do with it, so they tuck the warm feelings against their ribs and content themselves with watching their students.

“Tomorrow,” Annette insists when the Blue Lions begin to break into their post-dinner groups. The sky is dark, already, like winter is sending stark reminders to them all even while the grass stays green and lush.

“Are you sure?” Byleth says, tilting their head.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Annette scoffs.

“An infirmary visit,” Byleth replies thoughtfully. “An infirmary stay.”

“It’ll be fine!”

Byleth believes her, and doesn’t shy away when Annette turns, just before they part, and looks straight up at them with her hands on her hips.

“Professor,” Annette says.

“Annette.”

“I’m going to hug you.”

Byleth smiles.

Yes, sparkly bits of happy. Annette’s hug is warm and easy to tuck close to the rest of the warmth dancing up and down and along their ribs. Byleth does their evening stretches and breathes deeply the cool air of their room. They cast a glance over their lesson plans for the morning, for the afternoon, for the following day. They tap their fingers against the little notes they have on Remire and the frightening, mysterious illness calling them and their students.

They go to bed and snuggle deep under their blankets. Just before they close their eyes, Sothis leans over them, almost luminescent in the dark.

“Goodnight, Sothis,” Byleth says.

“Goodnight,” Sothis replies.

Byleth rolls over and presses their cheek to their pillow. They imagine they can hear the soft jingle and swish of Sothis’s movement away.

They open their eyes.

Remire, Byleth thinks. The sudden memory of their own dizzy spells is so visceral the bed seems to shift under them, the world seems to tilt incorrectly. They sit up and frown into the darkness of their room.

“What is it?” comes Sothis’s drowsy voice.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” Sothis sighs. Byleth can’t see her; Sothis has slipped into one of her own sleeps, barely a consciousness at the back of Byleth’s mind and barely a voice in Byleth’s ears. Still, they can feel something tug near their shoulder, like Sothis rolling over or batting them away.

“I’m restless,” Byleth decides and throws aside their mass of blankets.

“Try and sleep anyways,” Sothis mumbles.

“Maybe,” Byleth says instead of “no.” They swing their legs over the edge of their bed and stand, stretching their arms over their head and listening to the boney creak of their back.

Sothis makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like “ugh.”

“Some guardian of dreams you are,” Byleth murmurs to her. Sothis doesn’t dignify this with a response.

Byleth slips into sleep, or not-sleep, quickly. One moment they are once place, the next they are another—and it makes the restlessness that comes with wakefulness feel loud and overbearing. If their thoughts won’t still, why would their body? They think that they have spent a lot of their nights wandering: it’s how they have come to know the monastery as well as they think they have, why they know secret corners and safe places and, even, their fellow night-wanderers.

There’s something in the air when they reemerge, their cloak loose around their shoulders and their steps soft against stone. Something cool and biting but warmer than the breezes of the day. The sky is clear, still, and the stars are bright.

Byleth steps to the grass and looks first one way, then the other. They can hear voices a few doors down from them but can’t tell who’s speaking or laughing. A wyvern flaps its wings loudly overhead and then the scout passes into the night.

They turn and start their slow walk, counting their steps. They tuck their hands to their sides and blink up at the sky and then back to their feet. Slowly, their thoughts start to soften.

The monastery is sleepy. The dining hall is dim and empty. The bridge to the Cathedral is clear. Two nuns pass Byleth and nod, one of them yawning wide and then ducking their head in embarrassment. Sothis dozes on at the back of Byleth’s mind.

There’s an unusual stillness at the Officers Academy proper: the classroom doors closed, the birds still and the cats gone, and the bustling courtyard mostly empty. Byleth stops, their heels stuttering against stone and their cloak dancing against their calves.

They have learned that their students are often as restless as they are. No—more so. Byleth has met almost every one of the Blue Lions on their evening (their night) wanderings, sometimes greeted with sheepish smiles and sometimes with muttered honesty. They are growing, too. They are changing.

Dimitri, Byleth is sure, sleeps least of all them.

From his spot on one of the courtyard’s benches, he lowers his chin and blinks at Byleth.

He raises a hand. Drops it, and returns to studying the sky.

Byleth pushes themselves back into motion and swallows their sigh. “Dimitri,” they say as they draw closer, dragging his attention back to them.

“Professor.”

They take in a slow breath and remember telling Annette, just hours earlier: you can call me Byleth. They tuck their tongue to the roof of their mouth and sit down next to Dimitri.

“Can’t sleep?” Byleth says after a moment of quiet.

“I will,” Dimitri replies, sidestepping the question. Byleth lets him. “And you, Professor?”

Byleth shrugs. “I will.”

Dimitri smiles. 

He’s good at that, Byleth decides: smiling into moments of quiet and drawing himself up and his shoulders back so all his attention seems settled on the person in front of him. There’s a distance in his eyes, however, and sometimes it’s all Byleth can see.

“Are you well?” they ask. Immediately, they regret it.

“I think so,” Dimitri replies.

Likely: a lie. But Byleth allows this, too.

They look away and up at the stars. Pinpricks of light—hadn’t they read that in a book, at some time and somewhere? They can see it clearly now: the small needlepoint pricks of light in the deep darkness of the sky.

So blue it’s black, they decide.

“It’s still clear,” they say.

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees.

Byleth considers their next words carefully. “I was glad,” they start slowly. “Earlier. To see all of you together.”

“It was nice.”

Byleth taps their fingers against the wood of the bench, their gloves muffling the sound. “It may snow,” they say eventually.

A moment passes.

And Dimitri laughs.

Byleth turns to him, frowning. He swallows the laughter but it dances at the edge of his smile, brightening his eyes.

“I’m trying,” they say. Perhaps grumble.

“I know,” Dimitri says, his amusement giving his voice a twangy bend. “I—we appreciate it, Professor.”

Byleth sighs. “I don’t exactly know what I’m trying to do,” they admit.

Dimitri pauses. “You’re trying,” he says. “I hope you know that’s enough.”

Byleth grunts and Dimitri laughs again, looking away. Byleth studies his profile, tries to see if they can spot the exhaustion in the corner of his eyes or lips, maybe in a bend of his back.

“When we were younger,” Dimitri starts, and then he breaks off and shakes his head and the sheepish, small smile returns.

“Go on.”

Dimitri breathes for a moment. “You don’t need to hear this.”

“No,” Byleth agrees. They smile. “I want to.”

He considers this. He looks away. “Felix is my oldest friend,” he says, thoughtful and slow. “I’ve known him for as long as I’ve been alive.”

“Yes,” Byleth says.

“We used to wait for it to snow,” Dimitri finally says. And then he catches himself and looks back at Byleth. “Winters are long and dark. I don’t know winter anywhere else, of course, but winters in the Kingdom are long and dark.”

“And cold.”

“And cold,” Dimitri agrees. His lips twitch. “I think winter is cold everywhere, Professor.”

“Not here,” Byleth says.

“No, I suppose not.”

“But you’d wait,” Byleth presses. “For the snow. Even though winter is cold and long and dark.”

“The first weeks of snow are wonderful,” Dimitri says. “So, I suppose, we’d start to miss it. Or, maybe Felix did and I wanted to feel what Felix did, I don’t remember. But, once—we were six or seven, I think—Felix was restless and impatient and Glenn said: ‘Go outside and wait for it.’”

“Really?”

“So we did.”

Byleth feels their smile grow. “Did it snow for you?”

“It did, eventually,” Dimitri says. “We were out for so long I couldn’t feel my nose or my ears anymore. But one moment we were looking at clouds and shivering, and the next moment it was snowing.”

He looks away again, chin tilting. Byleth waits for a moment, but nothing else comes. They can imagine it: a smaller Felix, red-faced and determined; a smaller Dimitri, wide-eyed and untouched by tragedy; somewhere behind them is the ghostly shape of Glenn, urging them on; and somewhere above them, the first flecks of snow.

“I’ve never had a home before,” Byleth admits, their voice breaking in to the settling silence.

Dimitri looks at them.

Byleth shrugs. “Mercenary life,” they say. “We wandered a lot. I guess home was my father. As in, the feeling of home.” They pause. “He’s the steadiest thing in my life. I would miss him, if he left.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees after a moment.

Byleth counts four breaths. Dimitri’s eyes shine in the dark, like captured pieces of the sky.

“You can say you miss home,” Byleth says.

Dimitri blinks. “It’s more complicated than that,” he replies eventually.

Looking at him, Byleth realizes: yes, much more complicated than that. They dig their heels into the stone and straighten their back and look at the star-studded sky.

“Still,” they say.

They think they can hear Dimitri smile. “Well then,” he says. “I miss home. Rather, I miss the snow.”

“Winter’s just starting.”

“I’m not used to a winter that’s so—green,” Dimitri says. Byleth smiles at the stars. “I’ll hate it, once it comes. If it comes. The cold and the snow.”

Everything grows tiring. It’s easy to slip from place to place, dream to dream. Byleth looks away from the sky and sees Dimitri looking back at them and thinks: maybe home is a place to rest; maybe home is a good night’s sleep.

“I like it here,” Byleth says.

“I’m glad.” Dimitri tilts his head. “Will you stay on next year? Continue teaching?”

“No,” Byleth replies without hesitation. There’s a commending warmth in their chest that feels like Sothis, her hands spreading over their chest and her smile warm against their cheek before she slips back into her rest.

“I see.”

Dimitri smiles like, maybe, he understands, and this saves Byleth from hunting for the rest of their words and what’s left of their voice. They nod. Finally, they stand.

“Goodnight, Dimitri,” Byleth says. They pause, pressing the tip of their tongue to their teeth. “Try to rest.”

“I will,” Dimitri replies.

And Byleth believes him.

Sothis is waiting, hovering near candlelight and smiling when Byleth comes through the door to their room.

“Welcome home,” Sothis says, her voice loud and echoing in Byleth’s ears. 

“Thank you,” Byleth mumbles as they close the door.

“You should rest now,” Sothis tells them as they shrug free of their cloak and kick off their boots.

“Yes.”

“I’ll guard your dreams.”

“Do they need guarding?”

Sothis watches them blow out the light and clamber into bed, snuggling deep under the sheets. “No,” she says. “I suppose not.”

Byleth closes their eyes and presses their cheek to their pillow and all they can see against their eyelids is blue: bright, icy blue; bright, clear blue; deep, warm blue; blue so dark it’s black. “Do you think he’ll sleep?”

“No,” Sothis murmurs. “But I think he will try.”

That has to be enough, for now.

“You can’t protect them forever,” Sothis whispers, close to Byleth’s ear.

“I know.”

“We will try all the same,” Sothis promises.

Byleth smiles.

* * *

(Ingrid finds them first. “Ah,” she says.

And then Dedue. He starts: “Your Highness—”

Ingrid shushes him, her smile infectious.

And then Sylvain, who sighs and drops to the ground and says: “Great.”

“Let them be,” Ingrid scolds.

Annette and Mercedes next, with a concealed cake between them and gossip to share.

“Oh,” Annette laughs. “You’re waiting for snow.”

“It usually works,” Ingrid explains.

“It’s never worked,” Sylvain sighs.

“Shut up!” Felix tells him.

And Dedue coughs to hide a laugh.

Finally, Ashe arrives, nose in his book and another concealed treat in his pocket.

“Ashe!” Annette cheers.

“Goodness,” Mercedes says. “All we need now is the Professor.”

“Can you all be quiet!”

“Do you want a snack, Felix?” Annette calls. “We have—two cakes now. Slices, I mean.”

“I have an apple,” Ingrid says, by now pacing to keep her toes from falling asleep.

“And an apple!”

Felix ignores them.

And last comes the Professor.)

* * *

It’s outright hot in the morning.

Byleth throws open their doors and squints at the sky. They turn on their heel and wander back into their room to shed a layer, unbutton their collar.

They reemerge with their cloak billowing in a satisfying moment of drama.

“Goodness,” Sothis sighs.

Byleth ignores her.

A cat meows as Byleth passes on the way to breakfast. Byleth pauses and considers it. Hesitantly, awkwardly, they raise a hand and wave. The cat meows again. Byleth wiggles their fingers. The cat turns and saunters away, tail swishing.

Byleth joins Dimitri and Dedue for breakfast, sliding into the spot across from them and smearing jam liberally on their toast. The rest of the Blue Lions filter in, beginning with Felix with his hair dripping on his shoulders and his scowl already in place when he drops into the spot next to Byleth.

“Good morning, Felix,” Dimitri says.

Felix nabs some of Byleth’s jam.

Next comes Annette and Mercedes, with their smiles and their morning cheer.

“It’s going to be a great day,” Annette announces, settling on Byleth’s other side. She tears into her breakfast.

“Eat slower,” Felix barks.

Ashe takes a hesitant seat next to Dimitri and wilts, momentarily under his smile. “Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” Byleth replies.

Ingrid is next, with a book tucked under her arm, and last is Sylvain, whose bright smile drives Felix into scurrying away.

“He’s getting boring,” Sylvain sniffs, taking Felix’s spot.

“He’s grumpy,” Dimitri says thoughtfully.

“He’s Felix,” Sylvain retorts.

Byleth is very much at peace sitting amongst their class and enjoying their eggs.

* * *

“Father,” they say, throwing open the office doors with their new, satisfying flavour of drama.

Jeralt stares at them.

Byleth deflates.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Byleth says and shuffles into the office.

Sothis is laughing in their ears. Howling with it.

Jeralt leans back in his seat, looking too large for the desk and its chair and even for the office itself. He’s out of place here, Byleth decides; at the same time that he isn’t. Maybe they both need to get out, and soon.

Maybe they could find a home, somewhere. Just for them.

“Nothing,” Byleth says again when their father raises his eyebrow. “I just came to say good morning.”

“I see.”

Byleth sucks in a breath. “Good morning,” they say.

Jeralt smiles. “Good morning, kid.”

Byleth nods and turns on their heel and leaves to teach their class.

* * *

(In their dreams:

“Byleth,” Sothis whispers, her voice dreamlike and not. “Oh, Byleth.”

“What?” Byleth replies, knee-deep in the snow and watching flakes melt against Dimitri’s cheeks. Annette is laughing, warm at their side, and Sylvain has built a snowman in Felix’s image.

“Disgusting,” Felix snaps and kicks it and falls into the snow and Sylvain joins the laughter.

“Professor,” their students call. “Professor.”

“Byleth,” Sothis sighs. “My Byleth.”

And their father hoists them onto his shoulders and points at the wings blotting out the sun.)

* * *

“It’s only a dream,” Sothis reassures Byleth as they walk back to the Academy proper. Her words are warm against the shell of Byleth’s ear.

“I’m not worried,” Byleth mutters.

“No?” Sothis takes a breath. “Good.”

The classroom is buzzing with noise, though the Blue Lions have scattered themselves about, spreading their books across tables and calling to each other. They barely break from their chatter as Byleth strides to the front of the room, rubbing their fingers together.

They turn to face the classroom and feel suddenly unsteady, with the chalkboard and their desk and notes at their back and all the students’ bright eyes on them. The class settles and straighten in their seats and lean away from each other and towards Byleth. Annette flashes a wide smile, her hands spread and pressed flat to her closed books.

Byleth swallows.

“Good morning,” they say when the quiet starts to make their ears ache. “We’re going to start with a demonstration.”

Annette’s smile grows impossibly wider and impossibly brighter.

Byleth nods to her. “Lead the way, Annette.”

She’s out of her seat in a moment, her fists clenched to her chest in excitement. Byleth follows her back out the door and a moment later, the rest do the same.

Annette hums something tuneless as she goes, the loops of her hair bouncing with her steps and her hands swinging from her sides to her chest and then back to her sides.

Byleth smiles at the back of her head. Behind them, the others start to mumble to themselves and each other.

They reach the half-secret green, soft courtyard, with its low shrubberies and its new memories, and Annette immediately bounds to the centre of the grass. She whirls back around to her classmates and professor, hands on her hips and teeth flashing in the sunlight.

Byleth can _ hear _ Felix scowling.

“The Professor and I have come up with a solution to our problem,” Annette announces.

Mercedes claps.

“Thank you, Mercie!”

“This is all you,” Byleth says with a shake of their head.

“No, Professor,” Annette says seriously. “It’s _ us _.”

Sylvain snorts.

“Someone step on him, please.”

Before Byleth can say “no, don’t do that,” Sylvain makes a pained noise like Ingrid has stepped on his foot.

“Thank you, Ingrid,” Annette says. She takes two steps back and makes a sweeping gesture at the grass. “Felix, Dimitri—if you would.”

Byleth shuffles aside and watches Dimitri stride forward first, his smile wide—

(—and bright, and ah, it’s a bright day—)

—at the sound of his name. He takes his spot, back to the rest of them, with Annette beaming up at him.

Nobody says anything for a moment, and then Felix groans and storms his way to his spot next to Dimitri.

“This,” Annette tells them, rocking on the balls of her feet. “Is going to be very, very cool.”

“Don’t melt my face off,” Felix snaps.

“Oh, shut up,” Annette says with affection and raises her hands.

There’s a moment where Byleth starts to question the whole thing, where they start to worry that Annette has pushed herself or that Felix and the Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus are about to be brutally maimed in a well-intentioned bit of magical experimentation—

And then a great wallop of snow—bright white, shining in the sunlight snow—materializes and lands on Felix and Dimitri’s heads with a comical _ schlop _ of a crash.

“Whoops,” Annette says, cringing.

A glob of snow slides from Felix’s shoulder and falls to the grass.

“Annette,” Ingrid gasps.

“Wait, wait,” Annette says, while Felix straightens and Dimitri slaps a hand to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle his rising laughter. “Let me try again!”

“Annette,” Felix starts.

Another glob of snow lands at his feet. He and Dimitri look straight down at it.

“Ugh!” Annette groans. “Just wait!”

“You’re making snow!” Ingrid calls. “Annette, you’re making _ snow _!”

“It’s supposed to be softer than this,” Annette says, sounding vaguely panicked. “It’s supposed to be all—soft and flaky and not—a—a—whatever _ this _ is!” She raises her hands again, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, and then another great clump of snow drops in front of her.

Annette lets out a frustrated shriek.

Dimitri bends and then crouches while Felix shakes out his hair next to him and Annette shakes out her hands. He scoops up some of the snow and straightens, cupping it and holding it out in Felix’s direction. 

Felix looks at him. “What?” he snaps.

“It’s snow,” Dimitri says lightly and shoves the little mound of snow in Felix’s face.

Annette lets out another shriek and another, larger, mound of snow drops on them.

Felix curses up a sputtering storm and Sylvain takes this as a signal, unleashing a whooping laugh and skids through the snow to Felix and Dimitri.

“Annie!” Mercedes calls, laughingly following. “Keep going!”

“But carefully!” Byleth calls.

Their voice is lost in Felix’s sudden shouting as someone shoves snow down the back of his shirt.

Annette hops from foot to foot and then huffs a breath and the largest mound yet _ thwumps _ to the grass and covers the shrieking, growing collection of Lions in snow.

“Well then,” Ashe says and squares his shoulders. He pushes a frowning Dedue onto the grass and Ingrid joins them, laughing and gleeful.

And at some point, Dimitri winds up on his back in the mound, his limbs flailing while Felix kicks more snow on top of him.

* * *

Byleth knows they’re quiet. Knows that they’re odd. Since they were small, they’ve watched and wondered at the way others would turn away from them, or falter when speaking to them. Stranger still were the ones who came close, and closer, like they were looking for a hinge, some proof that this quick-footed mercenary could be cracked and opened and explored.

“Don’t worry about it,” their father liked to say, sometimes kindly, sometimes softly, sometimes drunkenly.

He never shies away.

Yes, quiet, and odd, and awkward. Fully grown, they are still finding their voice. Those first days of being called Professor and carrying themselves through the monastery without a sword in their hand or the rest of the mercenaries at their heels, Byleth had seen the suspicion on their students’ faces, in the other class’s whispers.

And then—

Well.

Sometimes, Byleth touches their fingers to their chest and swears they feel a soft knocking.

Something beating.

* * *

(They can only spend so long on the sidelines, hiding their smile in their hands and listening to the laughter and the shrieking. Annette gets the soft flakes right eventually and cheers, though only Dedue notices, with snow dripping from his chin.

”Very nice,” he tells her.

Annette grins.

Byleth watches this unfold, smiling and hunched away, and then a mass of cold and wet and slippery smashes into their cheek.

They sputter.

”Professor,” Ashe calls cheerfully while Byleth wipes the snow from their face. He grins when Byleth looks his way. “Gotcha!”

Byleth straightens and blinks. “Ashe,” they say. “I’m going to get you.”

Ashe throws himself behind Sylvain, who shouts: “No! No way! I’m not getting in the middle of this!”

Byleth straightens their cloak and joins the fray.)

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> annette: googles “non-martial uses of fimbulvetr”
> 
> thank you so much for reading


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